


Light me up

by kate_the_reader



Series: Suited [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, Holiday Traditions, M/M, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9016555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Eames isn't sure how Arthur feels about Christmas, but it turns out they both love the lights.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My Secret Saito prompt was London. Who lives in London but tailor!Eames and a not-quite-happy Arthur, so this happened. But i wasn't sure if my giftee had read [Suited](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8497795), so I wrote a different story for them. If you have read Suited, however, have a little vignette set at Arthur and Eames' first Christmas together.

It’s dark by late afternoon as Eames walks to the Tube, huddled into his pea coat, beanie pulled low, chin sunk into the soft blue scarf Arthur gave him last week.

“No reason,” he’d said. “It makes your eyes look amazing.”

Seeing as Eames spends quite a bit of time thinking about clothes that would make Arthur look amazing, he could only smile, and allow himself to be pulled in by the scarf to be kissed in the doorway before Arthur ran down the stairs to walk to his City office.

Eames doesn’t mind the early dark, and the chill of winter, because he likes the clothes of the season — the coats, the scarves, the gloves, the flannel shirts and soft cardigans. And he loves the season itself. He’s always loved Christmas. He loves the sparkle of festive lights, loves planning gifts, loves going to parties. He loves his work at this time of year too, as clients come in for a new tux — or to have one adjusted to the reality of another year gone by.

But he doesn’t know how Arthur feels about Christmas. He’s Jewish after all, if not particularly observant, as far as Eames knows.

“Darling,” he says that evening, sitting sketching as Arthur frowns at a spreadsheet he had to bring home, “How do you feel about Christmas?”

Arthur turns to look at him. “Well, we never had it when I was a kid, of course, but we’d get gifts at Hanukkah. And the lights. I love the lights!”

“Oh good.” Eames smiles at him, “I love the lights as well.”

The tux he has had made for Arthur is finished for the Christmas party Arthur's firm, Smythe, throws for its staff and favoured clients. Arthur had frowned when he brought the stiff invitation card home. “Significant others are invited,” he’d said. “Do you want to go? You don’t have to.”

“I’d love to, darling. But not if it’s awkward.”

Arthur had grinned then. “Of course I want you to! It’s black tie, though.” 

“Lucky your boyfriend is a tailor then, isn’t it?” he’d said, showing Arthur his sketches, even though the suit had been intended as a surprise.

Once Arthur had finished kissing him, the sketches a bit crumpled in his hand, he’d leaned away and said: “What about you though?”

“Lucky your boyfriend is a tailor, hmm?” Eames had said, taking out the suit he doesn’t get that much chance to wear, but does love. A graduation gift from Bellingham and Sons when he’d finished his guild exams.

“Yeah, lucky me!” Arthur had said, running his hand down the jacket, flipping it open to see the paisley lining. “They know you well, I see.”

The party is held in the grand ballroom of a smart hotel. It’s a stuffy affair, formal and rather dull. Eames does like the looks he catches directed at them, admiring, because they do both look devastating. He’s combed his hair with some of Arthur’s pomade, to match Arthur’s formality. He can't resist resting his hand on Arthur’s thigh under the table, and is rewarded with a deliciously raised eyebrow and a full sight of Arthur’s dimples. 

Arthur introduces him to an older man, Mr Jenkins, and whispers later that he’s the one who sent Arthur to get a tailored suit in the first place. “Oh, well, thank you to Mr Jenkins!” says Eames.

Arthur’s colleague Robert looks rather baffled by Eames, narrowing his eyes in speculation, and pretty jealous too. His tux is a bit staid, Eames thinks. 

But there’s no dancing, and Eames really wishes he could spin Arthur round a polished floor under a mirror ball, dipping him so his jacket would fall open just a bit, to reveal the gold silk of the lining.

Finally, after speeches, and dessert, and port, he whispers to Arthur, “Let’s get out of here, darling. Can we do that? There’s somewhere far more sparkling than this I want to take you.”

So they leave, Arthur reaching for his hand on the way out, and hail a cab. “Jermyn Street, please,” Eames tells the cabbie. They get out at the far end of the street, and Eames leads Arthur to look at gorgeous shirts and stunning cufflinks in the lit windows of the posh clothiers. 

But the real treat is at the end, where it opens into Regent Street.

“Oh Eames!” Arthur turns to him, eyes sparkling as they walk beneath the angels of light swooping overhead. He pulls Eames into the doorway of a shop and presses up against him, crushing their crisp shirtfronts and kissing him, hard and deep, in an echo of their very first time. 

They walk hand in hand among the crowds, Arthur looking up and laughing in delight at the displays — angels, planets, peacock feathers.

Eames is more dazzled by Arthur. He’s used to the way London, especially the part where he works, transforms itself at Christmas, but seeing it through Arthur’s eyes makes it utterly new.

Finally, they leave the busy streets and then they’re in Golden Square. There are lights threaded through the branches of the trees and very few people about. They’re both chilled and a little footsore and Eames is heading for a bench when Arthur stops and tugs his hand.

“Dance with me, Eames?” 

Eames steps close to him. Arthur begins to hum, and then to sing: “Fly me to the moon”. His voice quavers a little. Eames joins in: “Let me play among the stars”.

And then they’re both singing, softly, into each other’s ears: “Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars In other words, hold my hand In other words, baby, kiss me” as they sway together on the paving stones, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Neither of them knows the rest of the words, but Arthur whispers the very last line: “In other words, I love you”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, once again, to mycitruspocket for looking over this


End file.
